Annie Lafleur translated by Oana Avasilichioaei

Pamenar Press
Sep 27
4 min read

Born in 1980 in Montreal, Annie Lafleur has published six books of poetry, including Ciguë (2019, finalist for the Prix Alain-Grandbois and Prix des libraires du Québec), Bec-de-lièvre (2016, finalist for the Governor General’s Literary Award and Prix des libraires du Québec), Rosebud (2013), and most recently Puberté (2023, winner of the International Francophone Prize of the Festival de la poésie de Montréal and the Grand Prix Québecor of the Festival international de la poésie de Trois-Rivières). She served on the editorial committee of the literary magazine Estuaire from 2014 to 2018 and for many years contributed as an art critic to the magazines Spirale and Espace art actuel. The poem translated here comes from Ciguë, Hemlock in English, published by Le Quartanier. A bold and distinctive voice in Quebec’s literary landscape, Lafleur has also transformed Ciguë, in collaboration with thisquietarmy (Eric Quach), into a literary performance, which they have presented in various Canadian cities.

Oana Avasilichioaei is a poet, sound performer, and translator based in Montreal. Her most recent publication is Chambersonic, (Talonbooks, 2024). She has translated many books of poetry and prose from French and Romanian, including Martine Desjardins’s Medusa (Talonbooks, 2022), Catherine Lalonde’s The Faerie Devouring (Book*hug 2018, QWF’s Cole Foundation Prize for Translation) and Bertrand Laverdure’s Readopolis (Book*hug, 2017, Governor General’s Literary Award for Translation).

Shoulder first I shove the living barrier pillage freely I release its taut rope heart pumped up in the leaves in the scrub ants enter exit the fleet blights the stump a kilometre of strapping in single file on the horn tips they leap in the air high enough to drink the star and its blazing trail at a thousand arrows per hour the carcass collapsed in its stall sun water brimming in the buckets a bucket balances silver acid punches to the head fringe of darts and half in the skull stop before the ram pull its hoof out of the shaking sand the earth’s rings fallen out of alignment for one night only the moon rises with the steel head played low in the ear divided into four shank bones the rolled back eyes of the largest mechanical beast

to remake oneself less sombre two misshapen crochet hooks in the wool a few secrets in the burning row the tree heavy with something sodden noiseless the horse kicks my hand I make a fist and tear out the teeth of happiness my cheeks full I chew still-beating wings swallow flight armed tarred and feathered I speak with my tailored mouth and break break apart on the inside turn to the light pissed down the leg

I transform from the king who touched stones to grenade power one hand pulls on the tail opens the earth all the way to the pier fix my wooden shoulders on my knees nail me to July split me so that everyone can lick prod plunder my blond iron jabbed with the pickaxe going down into the mines without touching a single diamond while other white stones gleam I reach the ramp

the frost settles on poor charcoal five wedges of paper set alight settles in the throat large wheel in the grass straps and spears for over a lifetime I push the cart with one elbow standing in the flames I refuse to burn like an excavator shining under soot unzipped flashes breathe I dig deeper bam the metal bam the naked heart of the bull cleaved to the neck mixing with the dirt the bones from the knocked-over table the sick lying near me.

A kiss on a wave of Armagnac cuts the sound at the buttoned collar beneath the sea foam it could care less a drop in the clear of each eye scraped with a trowel the fuzz of its lunar wound

the beacon lights our open mouths a gland sings the creek leads nowhere I capsize a boy my hand on his ankle I shake him empty his pockets and the winter’s bile follows the current of rope of large coins of bird cries and his upside-down cries

the moths plunge on the last beat adrift on my tongue they move from one pipe to the next to the fire station hose that soaks everything in advance a sacred death put to the old torch insects split their guts on rose thorns

I sweep the beach all the way to the cement sink down into the seabed under the magma I pierce holes in basins in glacial troughs the piles cut with an axe thrown too far from the bonfire I jump into the thistle cool-headed the pain washed polished washed by the wind

the rotor of my legs is out of steam the oil and mercury leaking from the plaster the forearm sawed with forest and inlet drink everything before the field mice awaken lap up the moisture from leaves and moss and creaking tree trunks a desert sways

intoxicated one finger in the whale’s blowhole I retain an image that suffocates me and suffocates it with my arms around its neck I step on its toys empty the blue of its head and helmetless I push it into the earthly saliva.

Through the rear sight I aim one eye open crossbow taut in a fever chin to shoulder I stun a twitching nerve I’ll never budge exposed to light I blind myself and release the smoke

at a hundred degrees nothing but air my back peels I unhook the skull touch the sternum turn the key at my temple having eaten nothing I resist the exploding apple its arrow and my name slam between my fingers

in the lavender field I think of my destruction voice burnt to ashes under the magnifying glass I let the ant cross the horizon endure its passion standing upright and bent over my force increases tenfold.